02-23-2020, 03:46 PM
If there was one thing that Michael could pride himself on – a relatively short list of things, mind you, unless he was feeling particularly cocky for some reason – it was his aim. He wasn't sure when exactly it had happened, the whole elementals thing. All he knew was that one day he'd been fighting with just his body, forced to rely solely on his own meager muscles and decent but still not amazing reaction time, and then the next day he could deal with people from a distance, and tear through flesh and muscle with ease. It hadn't been immediate, no, far from it. The first time he had tried to use his earth elementals, it had been clumsy. Rocks had floated and shuddered around him, barely supported by his concentration and falling to the ground with a sick crack, like the last gasps of a broken spine. It hadn't been useful in the slightest, but Michael had seen the potential. He knew that it could be useful, if only he put the time in to make it so. And he had, because what else was a young criminal kid supposed to do? He had no mother or father to go back to, no friends to speak of – since this was in a time before Trevor – and he couldn't exactly pull off heists if he didn't have any firepower to back anything up. So, he had just spent hours practicing. Honing his power, learning how to lift and shape the rocks properly so that they would tear through living creatures most effectively. He learned how to identify weaknesses, to know where it would hurt the most when he dug the shot in. It was hardly any fancy military training, or anything like that, but it was the best training that the wilds could buy, and it had certainly kept him alive for this long. It had saved both himself and Trevor, probably more times than he would ever care to admit.
So, when the bobcat found himself wandering over and saw what the other male was doing, with the knives and the bullseye, he immediately felt a sort of kinship. Michael had never learned how to throw knives – he had never truly seen the point, considering his other abilities – but he knew what it was like, aiming at a target over and over and over again, desperate to get closer and close to that center point. His abilities were more comparable to the usage of a human gun – his rocks weren't quite bullets, but they were as close as an animal could truly get – but the target was all the same. The intention to inflict damage was all the same. Michael found himself wandering what situations the ocelot had been in that had warranted the use of knife throwing. Was the other like him? A criminal, on the run from everyone, never truly welcome? Or was he like those that hunted him? The ones that fancied themselves to be the law, and saw fit to punish those that stole and swindled and killed to get what they wanted. The bobcat supposed that perhaps one day he would find out. Or perhaps maybe he wouldn't, considering the odd air of secrecy that seemed to cling to Revolver like an overwhelming stench. Either way, Michael found himself wandering closer, his paws drawing him over to where Ocelot was surrounded.
Taking a deep breath inwards, Michael decided to make use of the target that was already there. The world seemed to slow down around him as he focused on the bullseye, his everything – all his thoughts, and all his worries – narrowed down only to the ground beneath him, and the sand, and the object that was forming. When he released his breath, the shot of rock and sand and earth went flying forward with dizzying speed, slamming into the bullseye of the target with a satisfying thunk before splitting out the back, falling and crumpling into dust once again. The hole it left behind was rather tiny, but Michael still found himself wincing, a soft curse falling from his muzzle. Perhaps he should've asked first, before he just went using his elementals. A headache was already plaguing his head, unpleasant little tendrils of pain curling outward to grip at his mind because of the use of his powers. He desperately shoved it down, quickly swiping at his mouth before the blood dribbling down could be seen. He supposed he should probably actually say hello to the man whose target he had sort of mutilated. Turning to Revolver, he forced a smile to his face, all sharp teeth and awkwardness, fairly sure his usual charms wouldn't work here, "Sorry about that. I just saw a target and I needed to try. Nice throwin', though." It wasn't the greatest apology in the world, but Michael was hardly the greatest at apologizing.
So, when the bobcat found himself wandering over and saw what the other male was doing, with the knives and the bullseye, he immediately felt a sort of kinship. Michael had never learned how to throw knives – he had never truly seen the point, considering his other abilities – but he knew what it was like, aiming at a target over and over and over again, desperate to get closer and close to that center point. His abilities were more comparable to the usage of a human gun – his rocks weren't quite bullets, but they were as close as an animal could truly get – but the target was all the same. The intention to inflict damage was all the same. Michael found himself wandering what situations the ocelot had been in that had warranted the use of knife throwing. Was the other like him? A criminal, on the run from everyone, never truly welcome? Or was he like those that hunted him? The ones that fancied themselves to be the law, and saw fit to punish those that stole and swindled and killed to get what they wanted. The bobcat supposed that perhaps one day he would find out. Or perhaps maybe he wouldn't, considering the odd air of secrecy that seemed to cling to Revolver like an overwhelming stench. Either way, Michael found himself wandering closer, his paws drawing him over to where Ocelot was surrounded.
Taking a deep breath inwards, Michael decided to make use of the target that was already there. The world seemed to slow down around him as he focused on the bullseye, his everything – all his thoughts, and all his worries – narrowed down only to the ground beneath him, and the sand, and the object that was forming. When he released his breath, the shot of rock and sand and earth went flying forward with dizzying speed, slamming into the bullseye of the target with a satisfying thunk before splitting out the back, falling and crumpling into dust once again. The hole it left behind was rather tiny, but Michael still found himself wincing, a soft curse falling from his muzzle. Perhaps he should've asked first, before he just went using his elementals. A headache was already plaguing his head, unpleasant little tendrils of pain curling outward to grip at his mind because of the use of his powers. He desperately shoved it down, quickly swiping at his mouth before the blood dribbling down could be seen. He supposed he should probably actually say hello to the man whose target he had sort of mutilated. Turning to Revolver, he forced a smile to his face, all sharp teeth and awkwardness, fairly sure his usual charms wouldn't work here, "Sorry about that. I just saw a target and I needed to try. Nice throwin', though." It wasn't the greatest apology in the world, but Michael was hardly the greatest at apologizing.
[glow=#75603C,1,000]" oh, it's a setup, no, no, we won't fall. "[/glow]
— Reggan